


No Two Quiches Come Out the Same

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: i mean there will likely be more in the future, not sure where i'm going with this yet ;; but i really want to explore more on sans so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5230028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Sans can't help but wonder if he's let up - given up - somewhere down the road. That seems to be all he can think about. He does his best to focus on keeping everything normal, he really does. But that's tough when the world seems dead set against you. He can only block and deflect for so long, and everyone gets worn out at some point.</p>
<p>He's resilient, not determined - that's not something he has.</p>
<p>And he can feel his resilience beginning to drain. How long until the cracks begin to run deeper?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And Everything's Alright

Recipes. Step by step instructions, specific, meticulous to a fault. They required precision – and yet you could follow the same recipe a thousand times, and end up with a thousand different results. The differences could be minimal, but it would matter little in the end. Many times, these alternate routes would all lead to the same end.

 

Ah, such a thing sounded familiar.

 

_No matter the number of changes, as long as the beginning and the end points are meant to be the same, nothing changes._

 

It was a gross downplaying of those words – but this wasn't chemistry.

 

He eyeballed the recipe in his hands, the bones clicking together clumsily as a digit ran across the page. The ink, originally neatly typed, had become smudged. There were places where old pens were used in a vain attempt to salvage the faded ink. Write over it. Repeat what had been previously commit. In other spots, where ink faces did not exist, chicken scrawl existed.

 

Tip and tricks, in a way. _Shortcuts_.

 

Funny, that.

 

He glanced this way, that – over his shoulder, a wicked grin on his face. When the coast was clear, it dropped. His expression grew somber, eyes heavy as memories – dreams – tangible, but just out of reach, flooded his mind. The images were fuzzy, moving far too quick, mute. He could not make out as much as he wanted – but the frozen stillness of his heart was a grim reminder that he had no _desire_ to remember, either.

 

Instinctively, his grin sprung back onto his face as the door slammed open; the clanking of bones dutifully alerting him to who had entered the small abode.

 

“Sans! I, the great Papyrus, wish to-” And the tall skeleton paused. He towered over his brother as he stood behind him, observing the sheet in his hand. Why, it looked just like...

 

“Why are you staring at my spaghetti sheet?” Papyrus' own confused stare made Sans pause and look up, eyes narrowed slightly.

 

“Why, brother...” His tone was slow, languid, and Papyrus very nearly missed what was to happen next. And still, he was too late, mandible clacking in pre-ordained fury, fists clenching, warning fresh in his breath.

 

“Sans, don't you d-”

 

“I found this paper on the ground, and it would be _tear_ able if something happened to it!”

 

There was a grim, arcane sense of satisfaction at the sound of his brother shrieking in anger.

 

Sans had to hand it to himself, he mused, he was a _fibul_ ous comedian.

 

 


	2. Familiar, but Incomplete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus cleans, Sans kind of moves a bit. Papyrus continues to clean, and Sans goes for a nap.

 Bony fingers drummed a sad, lonely tune on a table. They jittered and clacked together, the rattling adding a sort of soft, ambient beat to the otherwise monotonous song. His grin was wide, crinkled at the edges as he watched his brother patter about, singing to some song on the television as he cleaned.

 

He reached down and removed a slipper, pulling off a sock. The garment was moist from being confined in such a tight, warm space.

 

_Perfect_.

 

It plopped to the ground with a careless, lazy thud. As if on cue, his brother turned around, the large skeleton innocently prepared to express his discontent at his brother's lack of activity. It was maybe a bit of a cheap jab, but it was a necessary one. The _only_ reason he was so meticulous in his efforts was because he had to do twice the work. Now as the Great Papyrus, this was not an insurmountable feat, but a _little_ help every so often would have been nice. His brother needn't make his job _harder_ – as Sans seemed more than keen on doing. Opening his mouth, Papyrus' jaw shut with an audible click moments later, childish terror masking his expression.

 

The crimes, the atrocities, the _horror_!

 

A _dirty sock_! Fresh from the feet of a filthy, sleepy...

 

“ _Lazybones_! Sans, pick your sock up! I just mopped the floor!” Sure enough, the floor was smooth and glossy, reflecting the light nicely. The sock stuck out like a sore thumb on the glistening hardwood. Teeth grit together, a shaking hand nabbed the sock from the floor, flinging the offending garment into a waste basket – at the other end of the room – with surprising accuracy. Papyrus was not amused in the slightest at his brother's actions, though Sans' grin seemed to widen. Somehow.

 

Sans watched with a crooked expression, chin resting on his hand as he did everything but listen to Papyrus. It had grown to be routine by now; do something to get under Papyrus' skin (the thought of Papyrus having any form of flesh on his body made Sans snort), refuse to listen upon being berated, and then watch as his oh-so-cool brother set forth to commit the gruelling task himself. His vertebrae would cackle against one another, creaking as Papyrus' elongated body crouched to pick up the offending garment.

 

“Awe, Pap, you didn't have to put a _sock_ in my plans.” He watched the spark of juvenile irritation rise in Papyrus' eyes, before dying down. The animated monster made a show of stretching, joints cracking and rotating on their pivots before Papyrus stared down at Sans.

 

Sans' yelp of surprise was a beautiful melody to Papyrus. Having hoisted the smaller of the two off of the table and onto the ground, Papyrus wiped trace amounts of dust that had gathered off of his gloves, patting his clothing in a rather dramatic gesture.

 

He pretended to miss the way Sans flinched – perhaps his brother had been caught by surprise by Papyrus' movements and had to take a moment to steady himself. It wasn't often that the skeleton forced the elder sibling up to work, after all.

 

And boy, he knew Sans _despised_ it.

 

_Well, Sans, revenge is a dish best served cold!_

 

_… But cold spaghetti is terrible. Maybe revenge should be warmed up first...A dish best served nice and hot, to warm up a chilly body! Yeah!_

 

“We shall make this house beautiful and clean! And you, Sans, shall help the Great Papyrus, your cool and awesome brother! And then we shall make spaghetti!” Sans would back out at the earliest possible moment, and Papyrus would be disappointed. But he would milk what time he had for now. Sans would also dodge the culinary adventure that was making spaghetti; he always did. He'd make up some excuse, or plain just fall asleep.

 

Sans' grin seemed to have faltered as a broom handle was shoved into his hands. This served to occupy them and to keep them from being shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

 

“Didn't you clean yesterday?” The disbelief – but slight amusement – laced Sans' tone.

 

“That is irrelevant! Dust builds up quickly!” _Another flinch_. This one couldn't be chalked up to surprise from the sudden bonehandling – but it was also much smaller. Barely a tensing of the finger bones. Perhaps the lack of friends was starting to get to him, and he'd begun to see things? Become _paranoid_ and _overbearing_? He certainly hoped not.

 

Oh, what would become of the Great Papyrus? His friend count had begun to stagnate!

 

“... Well, whatever. But let's make it quick, watching you work already began to make me tired.” The reality was that he had a pounding headache, which exhausted him equally. It was a headache that throbbed at the base of his skull. One that he only ever seemed to be able to work off when he was around his brother. And he knew _exactly_ why.

 

_Funny thing about the colour red. It seemed_ _ **awfully bright**_ _in a backdrop of white and blue. And he_ _did not know many people who so brazenly wore such a colour. Bright, cheerful, loud – nothing to hide, no secrets. Pure, genuine. Ah – so many good qualities. Such a mixture made it very, very easy for a soul to be taken advantage of._

 

_He could recall the feel of the cloth between his fingers. The scent of it; its exact dimensions. The fabric was old and worn, but there was comfort in the familiarity._

 

_How many times had he gripped this fabric, staring at it in disbelief? How many times had he been too late? How many times-_

 

_How many times had he been a_ _**trusting fool** _ _? Just because they had never killed anyone else in the route... there was always a first for something. For everything. The memories and the betrayal burned bright blue in his mind, a searing, scalding burn._

 

_Every time it happened, he knew. He knew the second his brother, the most important person in this world, was gone. Sometimes, he couldn't even catch the human. Something_ _**always** _ _changed. No two timelines ever turned out the same. The paths taken to the end product may have been different, every time..._

 

_But the end was always the same._

 

_It always ended with Sans, on his knees, the cloth in his hands. The grey dust scattered in clumps around him._

 

_And he screamed._ _**That was the firs time that his brother had died** _ _. And the time after that, and the time after that..._

 

Maybe that was why he'd become more kind, more open to spending time with Papyrus. Because he didn't know what else to do anymore. At this point, he just wanted to cherish what time he had. It was exhausting work, sure; keeping up at a façade, sweeping the pain and heartbreak, constantly piling up, under the rug that was his smile. It sapped most of his reserves; but he'd resigned himself to such a filthy, trickster role.

 

After all, as long as nothing on the outside changed, it was all just dandy.

 

“First! Sans, sweep up your socks!” Papyrus' command seemed to go in one ear and out the other, until Sans turned up to stare his brother, grin faltering. An eyebrow arching. Confusion was _clearly_ evident on Sans' face, genuine and clear as day. It seemed to have taken over Sans' composure for all of a few seconds before he started to laugh; a soft, hearty chuckle. It soon turned into a full out chortle and the stocky skeleton dropped his broom, fingers curling over his mouth as he laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

 

Papyrus' confusion was genuine; he was honestly stunned by his brother's reaction. Did he have something on his face?

  
  
“Y-You,” The skeleton took a moment to compose himself, wiping a stray tear from his eye, “are supposed to be the one that _knows_ how to clean. That's just de _feet_ ing the purpose. Sweeping 'em just makes a big, stinky pile; but it doesn't get them off the floor. Geez, Papyrus, even _I_ know this.” And yet, despite his laughter and cheerful banter towards his brother, Sans picked the broom back up and began to slowly sweep the horde of socks into a single, rancid heap.

 

Papyrus seemed to be absolutely appalled. And yet, despite his revolt, the taller of the two quickly shoved the pile into a bag and chucked it out a nearby window, a visible stench trail following the bag of discarded socks. If the brothers had noses, they would be pinched in disgust at this point. But since that wasn't entirely an option, Papyrus' relief washed over both of the brothers and they relaxed.

 

“Well, I'm pooched,” Humming in a low tone, Sans stretched and rubbed at a single eye, watching Papyrus to see if the other would continue to push his brother into doing more work. And, true to his character, Papyrus' foot began to tap impatiently. Sans' grin did not falter, though his eyes did seem to dip slightly as he peered at him brother; silence reigning between the two.

 

Finally, Papyrus threw his arms up in defeat.

 

“Fine, go and sleep then! I'll just clean up more – alone!” Sans smiled and clapped his brother on the back. It was nice to see that Papyrus was so easy to wind up.

 

“Thanks, bro. You're the coolest.” It was something he often called his brother; cool, awesome, brilliant. It always seemed to cheer up an otherwise disheartened sibling, and never failed to bring a smile to the taller skeleton's face. Even now, the telltale signs of a smile that threatened to invade his face had begun to bloom.

 

Shuffling past Papyrus and his declaration of being a great, fantastic skeleton, Sans' grin faded as he made his way to his room. The area had begun to spin from the ferocity of his headache. It felt like the base of his skull had shattered, pain rippling around his head from a single, concentrated point. He needed to lay down in the dark; even if he didn't sleep. Even if his mind continued to be plagued by unnecessarily gruesome dreams – memories – whatever they were.

 

He wished he was strong enough to remain in the constant company of his brother, but it was overwhelming. It hurt. After a while, his eye would begin to sear and the same point on his skull would begin to hurt again, creating the headache. It made him seem like a lazy slacker; and to an extent, he was. He would put the minimum effort required in any activity. But on the other hand, he simply wasn't strong enough.

 

To be fair to him, however, he did continue to fight.

 

At least he was resilient.

**Author's Note:**

> I still need to get a feel for Papyrus; you'll probably notice in this, too. Hopefully a character study will happen soon, but I'm particularly keen on exploring the relationship between the skeleton brother. I'm hoping I can keep this up, haha. I also plan on certainly increasing chapter length later on since this is hilariously short, but its also 1:40 in the morning her at the moment and I have class in under seven hours.


End file.
